Wrong Number
by jublke
Summary: When Ryan calls Eric by accident, the older man finds himself in an awkward situation. Can he set aside their differences and be there for his co-worker? Set during Season 4, sometime after "Nailed".
1. Chapter 1

I do not own _CSI: Miami_ , because if I did, Marisol Delko and Horatio would have had three kids by now. I'm just borrowing the characters for fun. Or, in Ryan's case, a tiny bit of Wolfe whumpage. My thanks to Gooniegirl3333 for beta-reading this for me. Any remaining errors are mine. (Minor edit on 6/2/15 because I found an actual address for Ryan in the CSI Miami Wiki page.)

* * *

"Delko." Eric absently answered his cell phone with one hand as he finished shaving with the other.

"E-r-ric?"

Eric dropped the razor. "Wolfe? You all right?"

"Fine. Sorry. Was trying ..." Eric could hear a wince of pain as the other man paused to take a breath. "To call ..." Another gasp. "... someone else."

Eric gave up any pretense of getting ready for Mass and wiped the rest of the shaving cream from his cheeks. "You don't sound so good, Ryan." He debated with himself for only a minute before adding, "Where are you? I'll come get you."

"No!" Ryan's voice was emphatic. "I'm ... fine." Another wince.

Eric ran through his apartment, grabbing his keys and gun holster as he went. "You don't sound fine. I'm coming over right now." He threw every ounce of his tough cop persona behind that last statement. "Where are you?"

"Home." The defeat in Ryan's voice was audible.

Eric had only been to Ryan's apartment once, to drop him off after his hospital stay for the nail gun incident, and he'd never actually gone inside. He called Calleigh as he drove. "Hey, Cal. Where does Ryan live?"

"His apartment is over on Feldon Street in South Beach, by that little shopping center with the doughnut shop."

"Apartment number?"

"I don't remember off-hand."

Eric hit the steering wheel. "I need the number, Cal."

"Why? You've decided to pay him a social call? It's about time you two buried the hatchet."

"No, I think he's in trouble."

A pause. "What kind of trouble?"

"I dunno. He says he called me by accident but ..." Eric drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I only heard him sound that bad one other time, and that was when he had a nail sticking out of his eye."

Eric could hear Calleigh's fingers flying over a computer keyboard. "Okay, I pulled up his address. 3042 Feldon Street."

"Thanks." Eric stepped out of the Hummer and squared his shoulders, trying to discern the layout of Ryan's apartment complex. The 3000's were on the third floor and he headed for the stairs.

"Call me as soon as you know something, Eric," Calleigh said.

"I will."

Eric pounded on the door to 3042, his trepidation rising when Ryan didn't immediately answer. "Wolfe? You in there?"

The door opened a crack to reveal Ryan, wrapped in a quilt, his face ashen. "Please stop banging," he whispered.

"Then let me in," Eric replied. Wolfe was standing, that was good. No apparent bleeding. He stepped into the dimly-lit apartment. Nice furnishings, very tidy. No sign of a scuffle or forced entry. He turned his attention back to Ryan.

The younger man was deathly pale. Ryan opened his mouth as if to speak, then abruptly shut it and ran down the hall. Eric followed at a fast clip until a door slammed in his face and he heard retching on the other side.

 _Stomach flu? Food poisoning? Poisoning?_ Eric's mind considered the possibilities as he folded his arms and waited on the other side of the door.

Finally, Ryan emerged from the bathroom. "Told you ... not to come over," he said wryly.

Eric gave him a half-smile. "How long you been like this?"

Ryan paused to consider. "Since Thursday night."

The Cuban's dark eyes narrowed. "Ryan, that's two and a half days! Have you eaten anything?"

Shaking his head, Ryan mumbled, "Can't eat." He sighed. "Was trying to call ... Delgado's delivery ... when I got you." He winced.

"You need to see a doctor."

Ryan's eyes widened. "No! I can't." He shook his head slightly as he quivered. "I'll throw up. In public." Shuddering, he shifted the quilt so that he could hold it around himself with one hand, while pressing his other hand hard against his eyes.

"Headache?" Eric didn't really have to ask.

The younger man nodded. "I can't keep ... anything down." He took another sharp intake of breath.

"Why do you keep wincing like that? Is it your head or something else?" Eric pulled out his cell phone and pressed number 5 on his speed dial.

"My stomach." Ryan's eyes narrowed. "Who're you calling?"

"Alexx." Eric spoke into his cell phone, relieved when medical examiner picked up on the first ring. "Hey, you busy? I'm over here at Wolfe's place and he could use a house call." Ryan frowned and shook his head. Eric held up a hand. "I dunno. Stomach bug maybe? He doesn't look too good."

Ryan was now placing in slow circles around his coffee table. As soon as Eric had ended the call, the younger man turned on him. "Why ... would you do that?" The angry flare of his eyes would have been more effective if he'd hadn't been weaving back and forth. Eric propelled him to the sofa and sat him down. Ryan closed his eyes, the fight having left him. "I hate you," he whispered.

Eric sat next to Ryan and put one hand on his fellow CSI's forehead - overly warm but not hot - and the other against his carotid artery. Pulse was definitely up.

"No, you don't. You're not thinkin' straight. You've been off your OCD meds for three days now."

Ryan's eyes popped open and he turned to glower at Eric. The older man did his best to ignore the death glare as he stood up and walked into the kitchen.

"Why're you doing this?" Ryan ground out.

Eric returned with a wet washcloth and placed the compress on Ryan's forehead. "Because you're sick. Now lie back and relax. Alexx's gonna be here soon."

To Eric's relief, Ryan stopped fidgeting and closed his eyes. Delko walked back to the entryway just in time to find the good doctor at the door.

"How's he doing?" As soon as she stepped inside the little apartment, Doctor Woods wrinkled her nose. The twin smells of vomit and pine cleaner filled the small space. "That good, huh? Eric, go open some windows while I examine him. We need to air this place out."

Eric did as instructed, relieved to turn Ryan's care over to someone more experienced. Ryan moaned slightly as Alexx examined him, and Eric felt his own gut twist in sympathy.

"Good news, baby boy. I think it's just gastroenteritis. We need to get you rehydrated, though. A couple of bags of IV fluid will perk you right up."

"Not going ... to the hospital."

Alexx frowned at Ryan. "You can't stay here like this, baby."

"I'll stay with him." The words were out of his mouth before Eric had really thought through what he was saying. Did he really want to babysit a puking Wolfe?

Two pairs of eyes stared at him. Alexx spoke first. "If you're sure, Eric. It could be another twelve hours before he starts to feel better." She gave him an appraising look. "I'm sure you have other things you need to do on your day off," she added, offering him a way out.

Eric forced himself to smile. "It's no problem. I just need to run by home and get a few things."

Alexx pulled a small notebook out of her bag and, with Ryan's occasional suggestion, quickly scribbled a list of groceries and two over-the-counter nausea medicines for Eric to purchase. She thrust the list at him. "Here. Pick these up on your way back. I'll stay with him until you get here."

"Thanks, Alexx," both men replied.


	2. Chapter 2

My thanks to Gooniegirl3333 for beta-reading this for me. Any remaining errors are mine. I'm calling this story complete for now, but I might add more if the muse strikes. Thanks for reading! And a special shout-out to CSIMiamiFAN and Paula Galtarocha for your comments on chapter 1. :)

* * *

Ryan sat on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, his head resting on the toilet seat. The urge to find the pine cleaner and scour away any remaining mess wasn't quite as strong as his desire not to wake Eric, so he remained motionless, exhausted and miserable.

The older man had returned late that morning as promised, a duffel bag in one hand and several sacks of groceries in the other. Alexx had turned over Ryan's care with a list of instructions and a warning about when a visit to the ER might be warranted. Ryan knew that Eric had been keeping track of how often - and in what way - he had been sick.

 _Could there be anything more humiliating?_ he wondered. _I just want to die in peace._

Ryan had managed to choke down a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a bottle of Gatorade that afternoon, and he had even slept some in his bedroom while Eric had sprawled out on the living room sofa to watch a baseball game. Eric had fallen asleep before the seventh inning stretch, and if Ryan hadn't been feeling so lousy, he might have teased him about it. But then, Eric had spent a lot of time recently caring for his older sister, Marisol, who was battling cancer. Ryan wondered about that, too.

 _Shouldn't Eric be with Marisol, instead of me? I need to get him out of here._

Before Ryan could act on his plan to ditch his babysitter, his digestive troubles had flared up again with a vengeance, leaving him weak and light-headed. The last thing he wanted was for Eric to wake up now and add another set of tally marks on his checklist of Ryan's illness. He knew he was perilously close to a ride to the ER as it was.

"Wolfe?"

 _Damn it_ , Ryan thought. He rose to standing on unsteady feet, clutching the sink. "In here," he managed.

"You all right?" Eric's voice was closer now, just outside the bathroom door.

"Fine," he lied. He turned on the tap, swished some water in his mouth and spat, then splashed cold water on his face, trying to force some color into his bloodless cheeks. He opened the bathroom door carefully and attempted to stagger toward his bedroom unnoticed.

Eric stopped him with a hand on his arm and a hard look on his face. "You were sick again."

Ryan averted his eyes and pushed feebly against Eric's arm. "I'm a lot better. You should head home, get some sleep." He ventured a quick glance at the older man's face. "Looks like you need some."

With narrowed eyes, Eric frowned at Ryan. "Wolfe, Alexx said if we can't get this thing under control, I need to bring you in."

"I don't need your help." Ryan's words would have been more effective if he hadn't chosen that moment to lean heavily against the wall.

"That's what Mari always says too," Eric mumbled under his breath. He sighed and looked down at Ryan. "Come on, let me help you back to bed. If you can keep some fluids down, maybe we can avoid the hospital." Eric rubbed his eyes before throwing a shoulder around Ryan as he propelled him down the hall.

Ryan squinted up at his guide. "You okay?" The Cuban seemed exhausted and distracted, a far cry from his usual alert self.

Shaking his head, Eric's words didn't quite match his posture. "It's nothing."

Ryan dropped on the bed and looked up at his co-worker. "Come on, Eric. Look at me. It's not like I'm in a position to make any judgements here. I've got you keeping track of my digestive habits like I'm a toddler. Now spill it."

Eric crossed his arms, leaned against the wall, and regarded Ryan. "It's Mari."

Ryan felt the temperature in the room drop a degree. "Her cancer's worse?"

The other man cracked a half-smile. "No, that's not the problem." He scuffed the floor with the toe of his shoe.

"Her cancer's better?" Ryan's voice was incredulous. He stifled a yawn and slid under the quilt.

"That's not it either." Eric slipped into the hall, calling back over his shoulder, "Forget I said anything." He reappeared a few minutes later carrying a can of soda with a drinking straw sticking out. He bent the straw to make it easy for Ryan to sip while lying flat. "Here, drink some of this."

Ryan pushed the straw away. "Not until you tell me what's bothering you."

"Don't be stupid." Eric guided the straw toward him again.

"I'm not ... drinking anything ... until you talk," Ryan argued, wincing.

Eric caught his expression and frowned. Setting the can down on the nightstand, his eyebrows knotted as he studied Ryan shivering under a quilt. Throwing a hand against Ryan's forehead, he asked, "You gettin' those cramps again?"

The man in the bed shrugged. "A few. I really am feeling better, though." From the set of Eric's jaw, Ryan could tell that the older man didn't quite believe him. He sighed. "Come on, hand me that Sprite." Ryan pushed himself to a seated position, grabbed the can at his bedside with Eric's help, and took a few hearty sips.

The look on Eric's face was hard to interpret. "You'd let me know if something was really wrong, wouldn't you?" he asked softly.

Ryan paused to consider. _Probably not_ , he thought to himself. He shrugged. "I'm okay for now." He looked at Eric then - really looked at him - taking in the partially shaven face, the bags under his eyes, the defeated slant to his shoulders. Something had definitely shaken the other man's world. "What's bothering you about your sister?" He held his breath, wondering if Eric would answer.

"She's datin' H."

Ryan's mouth twisted into a wry smile and he nodded. He'd heard a few rumors to that effect, but had never actually had them confirmed. "Are you okay with that?"

"I gotta be, right?" Eric raised a set of haunted eyes to Ryan before he crossed his arms and resumed staring at the floor.

Realization set in for Ryan. "He's with her tonight, isn't he?" His words held a touch of compassion.

Eric nodded slowly before his pent-up thoughts began to tumble out. "I've been with her every step of this cancer thing, you know, treatments and doctor appointments, and I've always been there for her to talk to. Whenever she's needed me, I'm there. Only now it's all about him and she's shuttin' me out." He sighed, frustration evident in his tone. "I've put my life on hold to get her well. Even when it meant I missed a few call-outs." He locked his gaze on Ryan. "I'm sorry about your eye."

Ryan bit his lip and looked away. The nail gun injury was still too fragile a topic for him to discuss, so he tried to redirect the conversation. "Let me get this straight. You're worried about Marisol, but she's busy with H, so you've decided to take care of me instead." The words came out with a touch of bitterness, and he glanced up to find Eric staring at him.

"I'm worried about both of you right now," the man replied, dropping his arms to his sides. "But Marisol's in good hands." He gave Ryan a small smile. "Which leaves you."

Weakly, Ryan smiled back. There was a long silence between the two men before Ryan admitted, "It's good to have you here, Eric."

The dark-haired man gave him a slight nod. "You up for some soup?"

"Yeah, I think I am."


End file.
